The Reunion
by M.R.McCloskey
Summary: Near the beginning of S3b: Belle is summoned to Beacon Hills by her uncle Chris Argent after six years of exile in Europe. Bitter about past wounds, Belle is determined to simply hold up her part of the bargain in defeating the Nogitsune and be on her way. But Beacon Hills is an unusual place; can Belle really keep herself detached from this world and the people in it?
1. Chapter 1

Prologue

A Deal with the Devil

'Hell is the highest reward that the devil can offer you for being his servant.'

- _Billy Graham_

 _This is a dumb idea_.

The thought is on a loop in my mind as I step into the elevator.

 _Literally the dumbest idea you've ever had. Do you want to get yourself killed_?

The doors open and I step out cautiously, quickly taking in all possible threats and escape routes. I slowly walk to the door and prepare to knock, but hesitate.

 _Even if this isn't a trap and he doesn't kill you, what are you even going to say_?

Taking a deep breath, I knock. I hear footsteps approaching the door. This is my last chance to turn tail and run, which every part of me wants to do. Instead, I keep my feet planted firmly on the ground and casually reach one of my hands my jacket pocket. Finally, the door opens.

I almost don't recognize him.

He's taller then I remember. He looks washed out, all the colors striped away from him until all that was left behind was grey, exhaustion radiating off him in waves. But then his eyes meet mine, and I know for sure it's him. Pale blue eyes that carry an unspoken threat. Eyes like my mothers. Eyes like mine.

"Hello Belle." He says, his voice calm, as if this isn't the first time we've seen each other in over in almost six years.

I don't know how to respond, my throat closing up.

"Hey Uncle Chris," I finally choke out, trying not to sound too pathetic. "You look like shit." I quickly add, clearing my throat.

Chris lets out a short breath with a hint of a smile, before stepping out of the way, giving me access into the apartment. I wearily step inside, hyperaware of Chris' movements, ready to defend myself. But instead of attacking he simply closes the door and offers to take my jacket. I shake my head, keeping my hand securely in my pocket. Chris steps ahead of my and motions me to follow. He leads us into a room with a desk. His war room. I can practically feel all the hidden weapons aiming at me. Chris sits behind the desk, staring at me. We stay like this for a while, silently watching each other, before I begin walking around the room.

"I heard about Aunt Victoria," I say, breaking the silence "I'm sorry for your loss." I don't look at Chris, but I hear him shift uncomfortably.

"Yes, well," He begins, obviously trying to keep this conversation impersonal. "Comes with the territory."

"Yes, I suppose it does…" I mumble, finally turning to look at him.

"Why am I here, Chris?"

"Maybe I just wanted to see my niece." He suggests, his face unreadable.

I snort in annoyance. "Well, you had six years for that."

"It was complicated. If I contacted you, I'd be breaking the code," He says, shrugging. "Due to your… condition." He adds, looking straight into my eyes.

"So, what happened that made you feel the need to contact me despite my 'condition'?" I ask, borrowing his word. "Has the code lost its appeal?"

"No," he assures me, leaning back in his chair "We have a new code now."

"Well, now that surprises me," I say, anger slowly creeping into my voice. "Where was this willingness to abandon the old values when you came after Nathaniel and I?"

Chris doesn't answer. He doesn't lose his composure. He doesn't show remorse. While I wish I could say I'm just as composed, I'm not. I'm pissed. The anger is running through my veins, causing me to shake slightly. How can he just sit there and –

A test. He's testing me. I roll my eyes in defeat.

"How did you even find me?" I ask instead, deciding to fight about it later. This needs to stay civil.

"Well, it wasn't easy," He admitted, opening a drawer and pulling out a folder.

"Your father knew what he was doing; he had the entire Hunter community running in circles, looking for you two. And once he died, we may as well have been chasing a ghost."

He opens the folder. It's full of foreign newspaper clippings and crime scene photos. "I followed your exploits the best I could," He motions to the pictures,

"Germany, France, Greece, Italy, Netherlands," He motions to a different picture for each. "To be perfectly honest, it was pure luck that I had a contact in Bulgaria that recognized you."

I arch my eyebrow in surprise. "How could he recognize me? I haven't had any contact with you people since I was a pre-teen."

Chris' features softened. "You are your mother's daughter." He said, simply.

Then the softness is gone.

"Alright Belle, let's cut the crap," He begins, "You're angry with me, and I understand why. What we did was wrong; I knew it and I still did nothing to stop what happened. Trust me, I'm not very pleased with myself about my actions, either. And normally, I wouldn't risk summoning you back to North America out of the blue unless I had a reason. But I'm desperate, and I need your help." He waits for my response.

I narrow my eyes- I should've known. He simply wants a favor. I begin to turn to leave.

"Belle, I know you're scared and tired of running,"

I freeze when he says the word 'scared'. But I can't deny it. Six years of looking over my shoulder doesn't do much to make me look very brave.

"Help me, and then let me make all of this up to you. Please, Belle."

I turn around and stare at him for a moment.

"That was honestly… the dumbest shit I've ever heard in my life. Honestly, for a man known for his silver-tongue, that was the most convoluted attempt at manipulation I've ever had to bear witness too."

I pull my revolver out from my pocket and point it at him.

"What's to stop me from helping you 'make it up to me' right now?"

That's when the front door opens. Keeping my gun aimed at Chris, I turn my head to the office door, listening to the noises outside.

"Dad?" A voice calls. The voice is vaguely familiar, as if from a dream.

"Allison." I mouth the name, frozen in shock.

I look back at Chris. He's watching me, judging my reaction. He tilts his head, as if to say, _your move_. My grip on tightens, the only outward sign of my inner conflict.

Finally, I spoke.

"I'll help you, but I have conditions."

"Name 'em."

"Firstly, I want my own apartment. You provide half the rent money, cash. I chose the place independently. You get no knowledge of the address. Secondly, I am aloud to bring in a single person of my own. You will grant them complete immunity and protection, no matter who or what they are. Thirdly, you don't tell Allison anything about my… illness. I have 'medication' to repress it, but I'll need you to help me find someone to recreate it once I run out."

Chris raises an eyebrow.

"Is that all?"

"No, one more thing."

Chris signals for me to proceed.

"You don't tell Alice I'm here."

He looks at me, a sort of steely look in his eyes.

Chris sighs, obviously conflicted about something. But then he stands up and offers his hand.

"Deal."

I hesitate for a moment, but ultimately lower the revolver and take his hand in my own. The sensation of his calloused hand around mine brings about a feeling of nostalgia. It's been such a long time. After a moment we separate our hands.

"Well, now that we have that settled, let's re-introduce you to your cousin."


	2. Tonight We Dine in Hell

Chapter 1

Tonight We Dine in Hell

"Give them great meals of beef and iron and steel, they will eat like wolves and fight like devils."  
 _-William Shakespeare, 'King Henry V'_

"So you knew?" Allison says from across the table, her voice accusing. This is not a question.

I look up from my food, having just shoved a large piece of stake into my mouth. I chew slowly, buying myself more time. It's not that I don't want to answer; I just have no clue what she's talking about. Finally, I swallow.

"Umm…. _Yes_?" I say, narrowing my eyes a little while I study Allison's face to see if this was the correct answer.

As soon as Allison saw me, she'd insisted that I stay for dinner. And it had been going pretty well. Until now. Thinking back, I suppose I should have realized that it was kind of weird how smoothly that reunion had gone, that this was a ploy to interrogate me. But in my defense, the last time I saw Allison, we were nine and she was the worst liar I had ever seen. Now it seemed she was just like daddy.

"So all of those summers you came to stay with us, you knew. You knew and you didn't tell me. How could you not tell me?" She asks, sounding betrayed.

 _Ooh_ , I know what this is about now.

"We were nine! You were afraid of the fucking dark! How was I supposed to explain? 'oh, yeah, the dark is pretty scary, but just wait until I tell you about all the monsters who just can't wait to rip your throat out'. Yeah, that would've gone well."

Allison doesn't respond, just continues to glare angrily. The table is silent for the next little while.

"Where's Uncle Nate?" She asks, finally.

"He died." I don't hesitate with the answer.

She doesn't seem surprised.

"How?s

I turn my gaze to Chris, who refuses to meet my eyes right away. I wait until he does before I answer.

"Execution."

I turn my attention back to Allison. She appears to be mulling over this, deciding of she wants to push it. She doesn't, instead opting to change the subject.

"So, what was Europe like?"

"Fine. Didn't really stop to do much sight-seeing,"

"But I'm sure you still saw a lot."

I smile at the subtext of her words.

"Right before I came here, I was going after this pack of rouge wolves in Bulgaria. Seemed simple enough at first. But then I find them, and guess what; they aren't wolves at all. It's a cult of cannibalistic necrophiles." I watch her face as I recall the events. She stays completely composed, not showing anything on her face. I'm rather impressed.

"Did you kill them?" Chris asks.

"I did what I had to do; monsters are monsters."

My stomach churns a little as I think back to what I saw. It was hard to think that just regular humans had been capable of… _that_.

Nobody says anything for a long time, the silence ringing in my ears.

"So how'd you get the scar?"

I shift my gaze to the boy sitting beside Allison. They'd come in together, but he'd stayed off to the side for the majority of the time, watching. Allison looks at him with horror, shocked by his bluntness.

"Isaac!" She whispers his name like a warning. He doesn't even glance at her, instead continues to star at me, waiting for an answer. I'm a little impressed with his confidence. Most people just stare, wanting to ask but not wanting to make me uncomfortable. This kid just doesn't seem to care.

"I got shot." I answer, simply.

My fingers instinctively travel to the thin line of scar tissue that runs along my left cheek bone.

"It was a poisoned bullet, that's why it healed like this." I say, explaining the strange grey-plum colour.

The boy, Isaac, nods a little.

"Allison told me your mom's dead: How?"

"Allison told me your dad beat you: Why?"

Bingo.

Isaac looks so shocked, I know my guess was correct. The thing about Allison telling me is complete bullshit, but it gets my point across; mom is off limits. I decide to dig in a little more, just because I'm pissed off now.

"Is that why you chose the bite? So you never have to be a victim again?"

Allison is now giving me the horrified look as Isaac pushes himself out of his chair and begins to stalk toward the kitchen. As he passes me I hold up my empty glass and smile cruelly.

"Be a doll and fetch Daddy another beer, would'ya?"

He clenches his fists, but otherwise doesn't react as he exits the room. Allison gets up and follows him.

"That was rude." Chris states, having watched the entire exchange like a tennis match.

"You were just content to let him talk about your sister like that?" I glare at him.

"He was insensitive, not offensive." He responds calmly, causing me to roll my eyes.

"Whatever. Anyway, what's wrong with Allison?"

"What do you mean?"

I lift up my hand and move it a little, mimicking a tremor.

"She had a tremor in her hands. And more than once she glanced around the room like she was listening for something."

Chris's eyes darken as he leans forward. He hesitates before answering.

"…What do you know about Nemeta?"

I feel the blood drain from my face.

"Do you mean 'Nemeta' as in, plural for 'Nemeton'?"

He doesn't say anything, but the silence is answer enough.

"What have you done?" I whisper, unable to even try and contain my fear.

"We don't know yet," He responds, meeting my eyes before adding,

"That's why I called you."


End file.
